


A Strange Happenstance

by duffykieran (nillawhiskey), nillawhiskey



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Eventual Romance, Gen, Kieran deserved better, M/M, More characters to be added, Slow Burn, i'll only add characters that get focus in at least one chapter though!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nillawhiskey/pseuds/duffykieran, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nillawhiskey/pseuds/nillawhiskey
Summary: By strange happenstance, a man stumbles upon the O'Driscolls holding Kieran before they're finished with him.(Spoilers around and past Chapter 4. The overall plot and timeline of the game will for the most part stay the same, with a focus on Kieran and my original character, Gilbert Beck.)<>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted from my tumblr, https://duffykieran.tumblr.com/ where I also draw!

There’s a lot goes into living free in this country. At least, as free as you can get anymore, nowadays. Hunting your food only gets you so far, especially when it’s just you in the elements. And more so yet when the fiercest predator of the known world decides its fellow man is prey, making every run in on the road a gamble. So a smart man gets good with a gun. And a desperate man uses that gun to attain some things in life that he can not otherwise attain. And ain’t that just the way, huh?

Some are just tryna survive, others truly are simply out to be evil. There’s some folks here that’re the latter, sounds like, from what Gilbert can make out.

He was out hunting in these woods, had a rabbit already but was tracking for some venison when he spotted some armed men through his scope. Now, normally, he’d mind his own damn business. But one of them he saw go down some kinda cellar, and with what were definitely some guards, it really didn’t sit right with him.

 _‘Yer a god damn fool, Gil,’_  he thinks, huffing with a shake of his head as he shoulders the rifle away, giving his pistol and knife a quick once over before he slowly made his way closer to see what he can hear. And boy, did he hear  _something_.

“We’re all done with the bastard. I’m goin’ to Colm to get plans made.”

“What’re we supposed to do with him?”

“Get creative. We want to send a message.”

Colm… he feels like he’s heard that name somewhere, but he doesn’t know where. Guess it doesn’t matter. Can’t in good conscious let this slide, so it sounds like he’s gonna be making this Colm guy pretty pissed. Or maybe not. Sounded like he got what he was after. Unless he’s petty and vindictive. He waits for the sound of hooves signalling the exit of whoever is going to speak to the man to take a better look at what he’s dealing with.

All these men, armed, for what sounds like one guy. Must be an impressive man. He has to decide if he wants to take them one by one, risking them discovering him and just killing whoever they’ve got, or sneaking to the man first, risking having to fight his way out.

A few moments debate results in him deciding the latter is best. If the man ends up dying, he’s just some fool with some bodies laid about. So he sets about that path, waiting for an opening, two men looking opposite each other to slip past the both of them, creeping along the wall until he can hurry to that cellar door. It’s there that he sees — well, he don’t see much, actually, with a man blocking out whoever’s on the other side. Whoever that is, though, they’re whimpering and muttering something unintelligible. Gilbert draws his knife and moves quick when the man reaches for a blade off the table. Reaches out to soften the body’s landing and pull it aside some. The man restrained doesn’t even seem to pick up on what just happened, not until Gil has moved something to jam the door and returned.

“Y’ca… y’came for… me….” The man lets out something between a sob and a laugh, then turns into a cough as he winces and trembles.

“I’m afraid we ain’t ever met before, mister.” The man raises his head again, looking confused, and now that Gil can get a proper look at him, he can understand the mistaken assumption. Poor bastard’s face is swollen to hell. Can probably barely see.

“Who.. who’re,” he sucks in a sharp breath, body tensing after a slight shift. “Who’re you then?”

“Just some fool with a bleedin’ heart, it seems.” He shoots a look back to the door, worried somebody is gonna bash it in any second. “Uh, Beck. Gilbert Beck. Y’can give me yer name once yer in a better state. Let’s get you untied.” He draws his knife again, watches the flash of the man’s eyes widening as he flinches, then as it drains from his body upon the sound of slicing rope. Something stands out as he helps ease the man out of the position on the chair, guiding him to the table to lay across it for now. “Shit. Yer arm’s broke.”

“Explains the pain,” he takes slow, shallow breath, “th’beatin’s also explain the… the pain.”

“You can tell me about it once I get ya out of here. Away from these folk.”

“O’Driscolls… they’re O’Driscolls.”  _Colm O’Driscoll_. That’s where he’s heard that name. A wanted man. A  _very_  wanted man. He’ll ask about that later.

“I’m gonna see if I can clear these men out. Can’t sneak too good with you like that.” He barely catches the faint nod in his peripheral as he heads back up those stairs, easing his makeshift blockade out of the way and taking a glance outside. And, well.

It goes shit pretty fast.  _But_. He manages to pick two off before it really hits the fan, so with good cover and better aim, he dispatches them easily enough, all things considered. Got a graze on his shoulder for his troubles. For now, getting that man out and onto a horse is the priority.

“C’mon, mister, got rid a them O’Driscolls.” There’s a weak sound in response, far quieter than the whimper and groan that comes from lifting him up off the table and upright. It’s an awkward maneuver when the man is noticeably the taller of them, but they manage well enough. He ends up having to seat him in front on his own horse, the man’s injuries and broken arm too big an obstacle to ride on his own. Not to mention the man’s slipping consciousness. Gil tries to keep him awake as they go, worried the man may not wake if he were to pass out. Offers him some whiskey for the pain, though.

It’s not too far to get to Gil’s little camp, though as he helps the man down he realizes this set up was intended for a lone person hunting. He presses his lips into a line as he guides the man onto his bedroll, the single person lean-to shielding the sun from the man’s eyes.

“Kieran,” the man eventually forces out, voice shaky with the pain he’s still in as Gilbert searches through his things for something to work with. “Kieran Duffy.”

“Well, mister Duffy,” he finally finds what’s left of his bandages buried beneath a can of peaches, setting it aside with a half bottle of whiskey and a shirt he plans to fashion into a sling. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“M’sure.” The flat dryness of Kieran’s tone draws a chuckle out of him. “Ya sure nobody sent ya?”

“No sir. Only spotted the place on account of a deer I was trackin’.” Right, shit. He still needed some more meat.

“Oh.” It’s small, and he barely hears it, but the man almost sounds disappointed. Must be in some right shit if he’s disappointed in any capacity after being saved.

“Dunno who ya were expectin’, mister Duffy, but that place was pretty well hid. Oughta be glad yer alive at all.” That seems to knock some sense into the man, his face quickly shifting into a sort of panic as Gil kneels beside him, like it’s only barely occurring to him that he was gonna die.

“…Sorry. Thank you, uh, mister Beck.” Kieran stares as he gets to work removing bloodied clothes so he can start dressing the wounds. After a long few moments he finally looks away, towards the sky.

“These injuries are pretty bad, sir. I can clean ‘em up and make you a sling but ya might be wantin’ some laudanum from town.” He merely receives a hum in response. “…And I can’t in good conscience let ya just run off like this. Judgin’ by the kinda men who were holdin’ ya, probably ain’t safe for you to rest up with a local doctor, is it?” At first, Kieran doesn’t respond. He reaches to give a slight shake, receiving a sharp hiss.

“Right. Yer right.”

“Sorry. Thought ya passed out.” Which makes what he’s about to do seem a bit more harsh, huh. “This is gonna sting somethin’ fierce, mister,” is all the warning he gives the man before pouring some of that alcohol over the wounds, and he takes a mental note that the man manages to brace against the pain pretty well, all things considered. Then again, he did drink some of that whiskey. Once he’s finished he wraps the man up the best he can without jostling the arm too much, watching pink blossom already against some of the bandaging. He’ll need more bandages from town, too. Once that’s all done, the man’s looking better already. Or, at least, he’s looking less like some poor fuck that was left for dead after being beaten horribly.

Next is the arm. It’ll probably be the worst for the man in the long run, if they can’t get a hold of something for the pain. For now, a sling is the best he can to do to prevent it from getting any worse. He fashions it from a shirt, and he doesn’t actually have to do anything to it past some knots, so it might be more salvageable than he anticipated.

Before he can sling it, though, he’ll have to set it. He doubts it’s in the right place, the way he was restrained. “You got any hobbies, sir?” Kieran looks at him like he’s grown an extra arm. “Tryna keep yer mind off the pain.”

“I… like to look after horses.”

“Yeah? Must be close with yer horse.” He looks carefully between the man’s two arms.

“…Yeah. He’s a good horse. Branwen.”

“Good name. My girl’s named Mabel. Real sweet.” He counts down in his head.

“She seemed—  _ **fuck!**_ ” Kieran’s whole body jerks at the sudden flare of pain as the bones are forced into their proper alignment, then eased into position for the sling. “Fuck you,  _shit_ …”

“Keep that restin’ in the sling, mister Duffy. Should heal just fine.” He pats Kieran’s good shoulder, gently still, and shifts to face the fire. The man behind him is quiet, save for sharp shallow breaths now and then and the small pained noises he tries to stifle as Gil gets the meat off that rabbit cooked. Gives the first of it to the man, who devours it after only a moment’s hesitance. Those O’Driscolls weren’t feeding him, it seems. But between the whiskey, the pain, and the food in his belly, Kieran only takes moments to fall asleep, despite Gilbert being a complete stranger.

As he finishes his own share and settles as comfortable as he can, his coat for colder seasons bundled into a makeshift pillow, he can’t help but feel like something major has shifted. The question that worries at the back of his mind as he slips out of consciousness, however, is whether it’s a shift for better or worse.

* * *

 

It’s not the rising sun in his eyes that wakes him the next morning. No, that light is blocked from his vision entirely. It’s what’s  _blocking_  the sun that wakes him, startling fully awake when he’s met with a horse above him. The sudden movement spooks the horse a bit, causing it to back off some, whinnying at him as he stares. Once he composes himself he slowly stands, hoping not to spook the horse again. It’s saddled, and a coldness flashes in his blood for a moment. If one of those O’Driscoll men found them, they’ll both be killed for sure. 

Cautiously, he steps back towards Kieran, slowly kneeling to lightly shake him. “Mister Duffy, I think we gotta leave.” For how bad off he was, the man comes to pretty quickly at the tone of voice. He winces as he pushes himself up, looking around and relaxing at the sight of the horse.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He laughs, grinning at the confused expression Gilbert gives him before gesturing with his good arm. “That there’s Branwen.”

“Oh.” They don’t need to be in as much of a rush, then. He kicks his leg back out, dropping to sit proper on the ground. “Must take good care of ‘im, if he’s trackin’ you down.” The man just smiles at his horse. Makes Gil smile too. “Since you’re up now anyway, and yer horse is here, wanna head into town? Ain’t got enough meat left for a meal, but I can get a little for the pelt.”

“Oh, sure.” He pushes himself up to his knees with one arm with a groan, and Gilbert reaches a hand out to help him the rest of the way. “I uh, might have somethin’ in my saddlebags. Mighta been searched through, though.” Gil nods, lifting the flap to take a quick look in both.

“Dunno how much ya had, but there’s ‘bout a dollar and some oatcakes.”

“Sounds about right.” He shakes his head a bit, stepping up to Branwen and pausing as he glances to his out of commission arm before going around to saddle up from the other side.

“Woah, there. Careful now. I coulda helped ya up, feller.” Kieran gives him an odd look for just a few seconds, gone as quick as it’s shot at him. The man shrugs. “They got you pretty bad. Ain’t no shame in gettin’ help when yer that bad off.” There’s that look again. Almost didn’t catch it, barely in his peripheral as he gets the lean-to and bedroll rolled up and on Mabel.

“Guess it’s just, uh, unusual, is all. A stranger goin’ so far outta their way.” Gil chuckles in responds, hopping up onto her and shifting for a moment before spurring her to move.

“Guess it is, nowadays.” Probably a stupid thing to do. A  _very_  stupid thing to do. He doesn’t doubt that this man is tied up in something nefarious if he was getting beat up so bad by a gang. Or maybe he was just real unlucky. “You make a habit a bein’ tied an’ beaten by outlaws, mister Duffy?”

“I, uh, I mean, I try not to, no.” The question seems to take him by surprise, and Gil barks out a quick laugh.

“Tries, he says. You must be one unlucky son of a bitch.” He shakes his head, looking to Kieran who’s looking at  _him_ like he might be crazy. “I mean, yer either unlucky or yer stupid. An’ ya don’t seem stupid, so far.”

“So far,” Kieran scoffs, looking forward again. Gil shrugs. After that, both of them are pretty quiet most of the way. Kieran because of the pain and a bit of shame of having to be rescued and essentially escorted, and Gilbert because he hasn’t ridden with someone in a long while. Either way, the silence isn’t awkward, filled with the sound of hooves across the dirt and mud. 

Once they pull up on Rhodes, Gil tugs the reigns to pull Mabel to a stop, turning slightly. “How about you head on to the doctor’s, mister Duffy? I’m gonna get these pelts sold an’ come by after.”

“You don’t gotta…” He already feels like he’s imposing just from being rescued and led to Rhodes as it is.

“I ain’t got nothin’ else planned.” Gil shrugs, and Mabel digs a hoof at the ground as a stage coach passes a bit too close for her liking. He leans down and pats her neck. “Unless yer askin’ me to leave ya alone, don’t see any harm in makin’ sure you get on alright.”

“I… if you say so, mister Beck.” There’s that look again. Makes Gil wanna make sure this man gets healed up well enough and back to whatever it is that he does. He wants to believe the man’s a farmhand or something of the like, but with how well he’s handling those injuries the clues are lending themselves to something less friendly. 

He didn’t expect to get much from just the one Rabbit pelt — he also hadn’t intended to head back into town so soon — but the dollar twenty-six feels especially light in his hand as he pockets it to head to the doctor’s. He might do better to see if the sheriff has a bounty. Something he can get done pretty quick, maybe. 

When he steps into the doctor’s, Kieran is stood, looking like he might just bolt off, despite the state he’s in, the doctor turning suddenly. “Ah! Mister Beck.”

“Howdy, doc. See ya met my friend here.”

“Yes, and he won’t take a seat.” Gil looks at Kieran for a moment, the man looking down with his eyebrows furrowed, like he was caught in the act of something.

“You in a rush somewhere, mister Duffy?”

“Uh, no, no rush, sir…” Well, that’s a load of shit. He squints at the man.

“Wherever or whoever yer tryna get to, it can wait until you ain’t limpin’ with an arm broke in a sling.” After a few beats of silence, that seems to win out as the man’s shoulders slump and he lowers himself into a seat. Gil looks to the doctor. “Mostly he needs somethin’ for the pain. He’s swollen and bruised to shit, and like I said, his arm’s broke. Got in a tussle with some unsavory folk.”

“You were at the sheriff’s just now, then?” Kieran shoots a distressed look at him, looking forward again when Gil glances back. 

“‘Fraid not. Fellers that were beatin’ on this guy turned things into a shootout when I stumbled on ‘em.” The doctor hums, turning to look Kieran over properly now that he’s seated, and — there’s that look again. But, guess that confirms what it is the man does.

He ends up spending more than he planned for, as well. Might need to look into making herbal mixes, though the last time he tried that he damn near poisoned himself. He wouldn’t wanna force that one someone else when they’re already suffering. 

“Why’re you helpin’ me so much?” Kieran ends up asking once they’ve left the doctor’s, next to Branwen, Gil with a hand out to help the man up. It almost sounds accusatory.

“Can’t really say, sir. I just do what feels right.”

“An’ throwin’ all yer money at some sorry bastard feels right?” It  _is_  accusatory. 

“I s’pose it does.” He makes a small wave with the hand he’s holding out. Kieran stares at him for a few moments longer before relenting, grabbing the saddle to pull himself up with Gil keeping him steady. Watches the man as he goes around to saddle his own horse. 

“You a bounty hunter?”

“Now n’ then.” He gives Mabel a squeeze with his legs, tugging the reigns to get her facing the road. “I ain’t ever seen you on a poster, if that’s what yer worryin’ about.”

“What makes you think I’d be on a poster?”

“Saw the face you made when the doc’ asked about the sheriff. An’ you don’t seem too new to those pains.”

“I got a high tolerance,” he defends.

“If you say so.” Silence follows between them until they’re out of the town.

“Where you takin’ me?”

“Plannin’ to do some huntin’. Yer welcome to head to whoever ya run with, if yer so inclined.” His response doesn’t come in words so much as a beat of silence followed by the beat of hooves against the earth as Kieran opts to follow the man.

Probably better if he’s not there for the probable gunfight, anyway. Maybe it’s for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran learns there’s more to Gilbert than he initially thought when they work together to take down a bounty. He also comes to realize something, and makes some plans.

“So how long’s my arm gonna take to heal?”

“You didn’t think to ask the doctor?”

“Well… no. You was there, it got… ya know.” Gil snickers.

“Depends if it’s worse than it looks. Yer gonna be usin’ just the one arm for maybe… three months, about.”

“Christ…” Three months. The gang probably thinks he’s dead. Or… a traitor. He really hopes they don’t think that. The whole thing’s a mess. That time they had him… honest, it had him missing when it was Dutch and them starving him out. At least they only threatened to beat him. Then again, he… was a lot less willing to turn over than last time. It got real bad.

But that’s something he can think about and deal with some other time. When his arm isn’t broke and he can maybe bring some kinda peace offering with him.

“How’d you get so good with this stuff, anyhow?”

“What ya mean?”

“Medicine and such. Like my arm.”

Gil hums, thinking a moment. “I mean, I helped a bit keepin’ men held together when the war was goin’. Not official or nothin’, I ain’t a doctor, but I got some skill.”

“You got a lotta skills, mister Beck.” Gil shrugs. “How’d you end up there? Helpin’ with medicine an’ all that, I mean.”

“Just found myself there when some folk needed help, I guess. My pa and brother was in the army, so I guess it felt like helpin’ them, too, indirectly. I dunno.”

“But you weren’t?” He gets a confused look. “In the army, I mean. Seems like it’d be the more obvious choice, is all.”

“I, uh…” Gilbert clears his throat, shifting in his saddle a bit. “It’s complicated. I couldn’t join the army.”

Kieran stares at the back of his head for a few moments. “I was in the army.”

“That so?”

“Not too long, but I was.” He spurs Branwen forward a bit, riding beside Gilbert now, taking up the entirety of the path they’re on. “My mammy an’ pappy… well, they was gone, and the place I was workin’ kicked me out, and it seemed like the best idea at the time.”

“Yer mammy an’ pappy?”

“I was young,” he bites.

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, easy.” Gil sighs, wringing at the reigns. “Sorry you lost ‘em so young.” Kieran shrugs.

They ride in silence for a long while after that, until the sun is high and Gil motions to Kieran to stop.

“Why we stoppin’?” He gets off his horse nonetheless once Gil does, rubbing at Branwen’s neck.

“Some deer came through here. See?” Gil points to something, but Kieran isn’t sure he sees anything at all. “If we’re lucky we can score a buck.”

“You mean you can score a buck.” He gestures to his slinged arm. Gil shrugs. “How come you don’t get a job in town, anyhow? Money’d be steadier, I’d think.”

“Think I’d go mad if I worked in one spot for all my days.” Kieran thinks relying so heavily on hoping for the right animal could do the same, but maybe that’s just because he’s not the one actually hunting or tracking the animal. “Besides, I take jobs in town now n’ then. Sorta.”

Right. Bounties. They haven’t neared a sheriff’s office since he’s been with Gil, and he’s suddenly worried it’s for his sake that the man’s only relying on money from hunting, instead of taking bounties. He really hopes not. The man’s already gone far out of his way to get him healing right and fed well. He knows the gang — or at the very least, Arthur — sometimes take bounties, but… hell, he’d be more of a hindrance than anything if he went, and sitting waiting in town is a dangerous game. This whole thing’s a mess. And it sucks.

He’s jolted out of his own head at the sound of a gunshot ringing out, followed by a cheer from Gil, urging him to check out what he got. He urges their mounts to follow as he comes to do just that, and he’s reminded that Gil was doing just fine before him — and had took down quite a few men to rescue him in the first place. He’s not that much of a hindrance.

Gil is securing the buck on the back of Mabel when Kieran decides to suggest it. “It’d be good money, is all, an’ you can obviously handle yerself.”

“We ain’t hurtin’ too bad.” Huh. It’s barely dawning on Gilbert that he’s been saying we a lot after just a week and a half. Maybe he was lonelier than he knew, on his own so long. “Unless yer needin’ more for yer pain? I got some cash, not sure how much I could get with it though.”

“It ain’t that. I just…” Kieran presses his lips into a line, then sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno, you get by fine for food an’ all that, but any time you wanna buy anythin’ it seems like yer always countin’ coins.”

“Sounds like yer worried over me.” Gil holds back a laugh at the serious expression on Kieran’s face. “…Look, I appreciate yer concern, friend, truly, but…” But what? The man’s right. He can feed himself fine, but then come in expenses for ammunition, and keeping Mabel in good shape, and making sure he’s got long lasting provisions if hunting doesn’t go too well. “I’ll think it over, alright? Next time we’re in town I’ll see what the sheriff’s got, if anything.”

“All I’m askin’ of ya.”

 

* * *

 

It ends up being a forty dollar bounty. Kelley Douglas, wanted for a string of robberies. When Gilbert shows Kieran the poster, all he can really make of it is the reward price and the likeness of the man, but he figures it shouldn’t be difficult if the man took the poster in the first place.

“How’s yer actin’, mister Duffy?”

“Uh… I mean, it’s alright, I think? Why d’ya ask?”

Gilbert folds the poster up, tucking it into his vest. “Guy likes to stop people travelin’ and relieve ‘em of their money and valuables.” It takes a few moments for Kieran to catch up, frowning.

“I… I dunno if that’s such a good idea, with my arm an’ all…” Gil raises a brow. That’s a change from having to coerce the man into even accepting assistance from him.

“He ain’t gonna think there’s any danger in robbin’ an injured man. Yer good arm, that’s yer shootin’ arm, right?”

“I mean… yeah, it is.”

“Rest yer pistol in the sling, and if it comes to it he ain’t gonna expect you to pull a gun.” Kieran stares at him in surprise. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, ‘cause I’ll be keepin’ an eye to try an’ catch him unawares.”

“You…” Kieran stops himself, looking at Gil oddly. Gil stares back, brow quirked. “Okay. Yeah, alright.” Guess he had a bit of a wrong impression of the man. Or, at least, there was more to him than he thought.

Nobody hunts bandits quite like bandits, it seems.

They split off the moment there’s trees Gilbert can tuck into, and Kieran has to make an effort to not keep glancing to where he thinks the man is. The last thing he needs is the bounty to pick up they’re not alone. If he even takes the bait in the first place. He sighs, shoulders slumped slightly — then straightens, a twinge of pain throbbing through his arm. This sucks. His arm hurts. He’s playing bait. He is most certainly going to have a gun pointed at him. Why did he agree to do this? He’s sure the shock of Gilbert not being as good a feller as he seemed caused a lapse in judgement. They’ve only known each other a week and a half, how can he be so trusting with this idea?

Except it’s rhetorical, because he knows exactly why. He hates being alone. It’s one of the worst feelings he’s ever experienced. It’s right up there with actual, horrible physical pain. It’s the same reason he fell in with outlaws in the first place, before it got out of hand with joining the O’Driscolls. It’s the reason it feels so awful worrying in the gang that they’re not actually just joking. Maybe he would have just left the Van der Lindes, if there weren’t the obvious threat of Colm getting a hold of him for turning on him.

Except he did get a hold of him. Right from the damn camp. All that drinking got him passed out and nabbed from under their god damn noses. He wonders if he had been more welcome, if he had really joined those celebrations, if he wouldn’t have been —

Wait. He was kidnapped from camp. They… knew where the camp was. It wasn’t about learning the fucking location, it was personal, Colm just wanted him to turn on Dutch, too. That god damn, disgusting, piece of —

The click of a gun halts his wandering mind, and stills his growing anger. Right. Bounty. Bait. “Put yer hands up, mister. Nice an’ slow like.”

Kieran sighs quietly. “Can only put one up, mister. On account a the sling.” He does put it up, though. Makes a mental note to tell Gil to fuck himself as he glances back to see two more men besides the target. Kelley motions to one of them to go over, and the man dismounts to rifle through one of Kieran’s saddlebag. He forces himself to breathe evenly as he plays through the scenario in his mind of the man noticing the gun tucked into his sling alongside his broken arm.

“Ain’t much. Some meats, though.”

“Fine. Take th—” In a flash, the bounty’s hand is shot through, his revolver sent flying and Kieran uses the shock of it to reach for his own gun, quickly getting a shot off at the man who had a hand in his saddlebag. Kelley is spurring his horse to get him away, and Gilbert gets a bullet into the third bandit’s gut as Mabel runs him out of the trees and after the target. Kieran gets Branwen a bit closer to spur the man’s horse into bucking him off the rest of the way before he follows after the men, urging Branwen faster to try and flank Kelly and prevent him from turning into the trees.

It turns out to not be too much of an issue, though Gil misses the first time when he throws his lasso. There’s a moment where Kieran thinks the bounty is gonna tug Gil to the ground as the man keeps the rope taut, but he guesses the man’s stronger than he looks. It’s quite a site, honestly, with Gilbert being on the short side and just picking Kelley right up and getting him secured on Mabel’s rear.

“Usin’ an injured man to trick people, that’s low! Y’oughta be ashamed!” Gil rolls his eyes as he saddles up, and Kieran outright laughs.

“You was robbin’ an injured man.”

“You had a gun!” The tail end of his words are grunted, as the two of them spur their mounts into movement. “Bet you ain’t even actually injured, ya no good…”

“Nah, my arm’s broken. Didn’t really need it to take y’all down, though. Kinda sad, really.” The adrenaline’s got him feeling giddy, lessening the pain settled into his arm. “Speakin’ a that, I think I’m gettin’ pretty good at ridin’ one handed.”

“Probably helps Branwen’s smart. I’ve seen him fight ya on a turn now an’ then.”

Kieran frowns, leaning over to look at his horse. “Ya gotta go an’ make me look bad, huh?” Branwen snorts at him, and Gil bursts into laughter. After a pout and several complaints from their passenger, they’re back in town.

Kieran waits in the saloon while Gilbert turns the bounty in, dropping some coin on a beer in the mean time. He’s half through it when Gil turns up beside him, clapping him on his good shoulder and dropping a small stack of bills in front of him. He smiles as he takes a quick look over it. Right down the middle. Fairest he’s been paid in a long time, considering he wasn’t really allowed to do any real jobs yet for the gang.

“Wanted to apologize for earlier,” Gil gestures to the barkeep to get him a beer as well, “I guess I didn’t really expect him to be just on his own, but I thought he’d only have one other guy, if anything.”

“Oh, right.” Kieran takes a sip. “Go fuck yerself, fer that one.” Gil chuckles as his own drink is set in front of him.

“Fair enough.” The man laughs back, and they tap their bottles together and drink in silence for a while. Gil doesn’t speak again until they’re handed their second bottles. “Been meanin’ to ask ya somethin’… Wanted to sooner, but never really seemed a good time.”

“Go fer it.”

“Well… ‘M just wonderin’ why ya were bein’ held by O’Driscolls.” He’s a lot quieter when he asks it, leaned in slightly. “I ain’t got any personal affiliations, just curious mostly. I’m runnin’ with ya fer the time bein’, an’ I don’t wanna misstep, ya understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. I get ya.” He sets the bottle down, rubbing the back of his neck. “See, I… I used to run with them. But then I, I sorta joined the… A different gang, that ain’t on good terms with them.”

Gil gives a small nod, then gives the man a nudge and motions to an empty table, with a bit more space between them and prying ears. “I can get why they ain’t fans a yers, then. What I’m not gettin’ is why they didn’t just kill ya.”

Kieran exhales through his nose, and doesn’t continue until they’re seated away from anyone else. “Thing is… well, first off, I, I never wanted to run with the O’Driscolls. See, they found me an’ told me to join ‘em or die.” Gil nods. “An’, well, they go through men real fast an’ don’t treat nobody well, so… so this uh, other gang, they sorta… chase me down an’ grab me. Tie me up. Ask me questions over an’ over.”

“An’ you talked.” Kieran searches the man’s face for judgement, but the man’s either got a good poker face or he’s genuinely waiting to pass judgement.

“I mean, they, they starved me out, mister Beck. Didn’t give me no food or water. If one a them didn’t sneak me a little water now an’ then I woulda been dead. Th- then they was threatenin’ to,” he pauses, leaning further in to hiss the next words low, “to geld me.”

“Christ.” A pause. A quick glance. Gil starts to open his mouth, but Kieran cuts him off.

“They didn’t!” He huffs, glancing around at his small outburst. The barkeep glanced over at them, but it was only passing. “…I mean, the tongs got real close but, but they didn’t take anythin’ off. ‘Cause I caved an’ told ‘em about a spot Colm was supposed to be holed up in. ‘Cept he weren’t there after all, so I convinced the gang I was one a them now, since I don’t like Colm at all, same as them. An’ Colm’s a real vindictive bastard, so I woulda been good as dead if they didn’t take me.”

Gilbert seems to be taking a few moments to mull the information over. Kieran… feels a bit better, actually telling someone about all this. Like a bit of weight he didn’t know was on him. And Gil doesn’t have stakes on either side, so he’s not gonna be biased about all of it. “So they wanted to get back at you and send your new boss a message.”

“Yeah — wait, huh?” That’s his first time hearing about any kind of message being sent. “Whatcha mean, a message?”

“One a them men was talkin’ about sending a message. Uh… gettin’ creative. In… dealin’ with you. When they was done.” He regrets mentioning it, watching the color drain from Kieran’s face. “It don’t mean nothin’ now, yer fine. They died.”

“I guess… shit.” He thought they’d just kill him and be done with it. Then again, he also thought they were trying to get the location from him, when they already knew where the gang was. Were they… no. That’s too fucked up, surely. Were they gonna send his body to them…? “It never really came to mind, since I was… bein’ tortured an’ all, but they already knew where the camp was. They grabbed me right from it, when we were all passed out from some celebratin’.” He slumps in his seat, taking a long swig. “Think they just wanted to make me talk to prove a point.”

“You really are one unlucky son of a bitch.” Kieran hums, raising his glass in a mock cheers before he downs the rest of it. Gil offers the remaining half of his own, which he takes without hesitance. “Was that why you ain’t gone back to them yet? Cause ya talked?”

“…Yeah. But, but they already knew where the camp was, ‘cause they grabbed me!” Gil makes a face, and he knows right away he didn’t sound convincing. He sighs. “I was plannin’ to anyway. It’ll be worse if it seems like I been hidin’. I just wanna have somethin’ to show when I go, sort of a, a peace offerin’, ya know.”

“Right.” Gil drums his fingers on the table, staring off as Kieran finishes the beer. “Whatcha got in mind, then?”

“Huh?”

“For the peace offerin’. Whatcha got in mind?”

Kieran stares. “I… I dunno. You don’t gotta involve yourself, mister Beck, you’ve got a decent reputation it seems like.”

“I told ya, yer arm’s gonna be out at least three months. You think they’ll wanna see you if you take that long?”

He’s got a point. Kieran frowns. “Might not even still be there in three months.” Gil makes a sort of ‘see?’ gesture, and Kieran has to restrain himself from smacking the man. “I really don’t know, though. I ain’t never been the one to lead these kinds a things… usually just. Followed orders.”

“It’ll be good learnin’, then. You’ll go back with money an’ some new skills.” The way this man talks, Kieran’s surprised he’s not running with a gang. Maybe he used to.

“And you.” He voices it like a warning, giving Gil a careful look. If he helps him hit wherever it is he hits, he’s getting a cut. And he might have to explain to Dutch why the take seems a bit light. He guesses Gilbert doesn’t have to, though, he could just take his share and clean his hands of one Kieran Duffy, lone outlaw and member of the Van der Linde gang. There’s a small, ridiculous twang of dread in him at the thought, even though he knows he wouldn’t be alone. He’d be back with the gang.

“And me.” He voices it like an assurance, looking Kieran right back. Helping a gang is gonna be up there on one of the stupidest things he’s ever done. But the idea of stealing some cash and just sending the man on his way doesn’t sit right with him. He isn’t sure why. He does know, however, that he’s gonna trust what feels right. It’s better than going back to wandering the wilds alone, living meal to meal through hunting. Something that he thought was the ideal life he could be living, before Kieran Duffy got his ass beat right into that life instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've liked this so far! As of this point, it will now update alongside my tumblr, as opposed to these first two chapters being written before I had an account on here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes some time, but plans come to fruition. With enough time for a bit of leisure and bonding beforehand.

It’s taking a while to get any leads. Kieran used to think folk just said they were working on getting things started in towns as excuses to relax, but now that he’s the one having to try and ask around and learn things while also keeping inconspicuous, he gets it. It really does take the time and effort. He’s certainly got a new appreciation for the folk that handle this kinda thing.

“Could rustle,” Gil suggests while they’re at their little campfire, a good ways out of town.

“Maybe... might bring too much heat, though.” Kieran sighs, jabbing a stick at the fire and watching the bright flecks pop and float up past the meat they’re cooking. “You rustled before?”

“Well... nah. Turned some folk in for it, once or twice.”

He scoffs. “That ain’t at all the same, Beck.” Gil shrugs.

“Train’s probably outta the question, same as a bank. I’m tryna be creative.”

Because of his damned arm. Whatever they do, Gilbert is gonna end up pulling most of the weight. Besides being stuck with just the one arm, people are gonna connect it back to him with the sling and all. What are they supposed to  _do?_

“We’ll dig around some more tomorrow. We’ll figure somethin’ out, Duffy,” Gil assures him, and he sighs but nods. The man flips the meat one last time, and they share it in silence, alongside a bottle of brandy they pass back and forth.

“How did you end up doin’ all this? Bounties, huntin’, an’ ya definitely have experience as an outlaw.” Gil opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t actually respond immediately.

“My brother. An’ pa, sorta... They made friends with some bandits or somethin’ I guess, after they was discharged. Dishonorable in my brother’s case.” Gil stares up at the stars, crossing his hands over his stomach. “I was a lil younger an’ a lot stupider an’ thought they was fascinatin’. So I started hangin’ around them, learnin’ things, helpin’ with things. Made things worse ‘tween my ma an’ pa when they was already fightin’ so much.” There’s a long pause, and Kieran thinks that’s it for a few moments. “Lost ‘em both when lawmen chased those men to our home. They was plannin’ to hide out but they turned it into a shootout. I think the only one that made it was my sister, the law escorted her out.”

“What about you? Didn’t they know you was there?” It sounds pretty rough. Definitely explains why the man was on his own with those skills of his.

“I was hid. Scared to come out ‘cause I knew all those dead men. Rode with ‘em now an’ then. So when they left I grabbed everything I could off a them an’ took my pa’s horse.” He scratches at his neck. “Been survivin’ since then. Found my first bounty in a train station. Went from there.”

“Shit. Sorry to hear that.”

“The past is done.” Gil sits up, stretching his arms over his head, shifting to sit more comfortably and actually look at Kieran. “What about you, then? You mentioned the army.”

“Oh, yeah,” he’s taken to poking at the fire again, “I was workin’ in stables, with horses, when I was little. Then my mammy an’ pappy got sick, like I said. Cholera. They died. Then I got kicked outta the place an’ joined the army fer a while, like ya know. It was after that I fell in with some outlaws. It was pretty good, crime aside.” He leans back, pausing his stick poking onslaught and pulling a knee up. He misses them, every time he thinks about them again. They were decent folk. Well — decent as those kinda folk can be. “They died, too. Killed by O’Driscoll’s. An’ they told me to ride with ‘em or die, like I said, so it weren’t like I had a choice. Then ya know what happened with the Van der Lindes.” There’s a small noise of acknowledgment, followed by a long moment of silence before Gil chuckles. “What’s funny?”

“Nothin’. Just...” Gil shakes his head, making a vague gesture with his hand. “Ya think back on all that, it’s all so... much. Our whole damn lives, right there,” he sighs, “yet we can run through it in under a minute. Just... it’s funny, is all. In a sad kinda way.”

“I guess.” He’s never really though about that. But it’s true, isn’t it? They damn near know each other’s whole story. He frowns. “I mean, there’s folks who can make their’s even shorter. It’s... it’s the moments and such that mean anything. Like — like this. Us talkin’.” He shifts where he’s sitting a bit, turning to face Gilbert more proper and gesturing between them. “We ain’t gonna put this in any retellin’ of our lives, sure, but this kinda thing is what brings people together. Moments that ain’t the same even if ya do retell ‘em sometime.”

“Guess yer right.” Moments like these, huh? He looks to the stars again, and they sit in silence for a while before he speaks again. “I used to have talks like this with my sister.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Stayin’ up late and just... talkin’ about the world. What’s happenin’ with it. ‘Bout what... matters in life.” He didn’t realize just how much he missed her until now. “She said it was love, most a all. Every kind. Family, friend. Didn’t need nothin’ else if ya had love, she said.” Maybe she was right. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a small bitter laugh. “She liked to read books. Thought she had silly ideals in her head from ‘em. I would tell her she was wrong an’ it was money. Thought if ya had money ya could have anythin’. She thought I was the silly one.”

The stick Kieran’s been poking at the fire snaps, burnt through, and he tosses the rest of it onto the fire. “Do ya still think that?”

“I ain’t too sure, anymore.” He’s been a little... happier, he guesses to call it, since he’s had Kieran with him. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, and it’s different from when he was younger, with the bandits and his brother and pa. “Then again, I ain’t exactly had much in the way of money.”

Kieran laughs. “Me either. Always seems to go fast, too.” His fingers find a loose thread on the fabric of his sling, idly picking at it. “An’ when we get some we ain’t even gonna keep it.”

“We keep a little of it.” Kieran hums an affirmative. They sit in silence for a while one more, before Gilbert finally speaks again. “What if we do it at night?”

“Pardon?”

“Robbin’.” He straightens up, pulling a leg under himself where he sits on the ground. “If we hit the bank at night, there won’t be no witnesses. We just get the money an’ run.”

“How the hell we gonna get in a bank at  _night?_ You got dynamite you ain’t mentioned before?”

“Back door. Break the lock. Get in, crack the safes, an’ ride off into the night.” He pushes himself up, hurrying in his sudden excitement to Mabel, digging through the saddlebag as she digs her hoof at the dirt, and comes back with an odd little metal contraption. “This is s’posed to break locks right open, real quiet. Be outta town ‘fore anybody even knows the bank were robbed.”

“ _S’posed_ to?” He still isn’t convinced of this being a good plan. “If it’s that easy, how come there ain’t nobody who’s robbed a bank at night, silent, huh?”

“How do ya know they ain’t?”

Kieran opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly. That’s... as good a point as any. “Alright... An’ what about guards, huh?”

“Probably only one or two. Easy enough to take down.” He holds his hands out, palms up. “Tell me there ain’t a better plan you ever heard, Duffy.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Beck.” He shakes his head, just barely, and glances around for a new stick before deciding he’s better off turning in. They exchange good nights, and sleep with plans for tomorrow night.

* * *

They take their time in the morning when they wake, sipping coffee and eating food they already had. At some point Kieran can tell the man gets antsy, just sitting here waiting the sun out before moving out, and he tries to subtly urge the man to hunt. Gilbert seems happiest when he’s hunting.

“Don’t wanna leave ya here, waitin’ with no company,” he says firmly, in a way that speaks of finality on the subject. Yet even as he says it, Kieran sees his fingers twitch.

“Gotta do  _somethin’._ ” He looks around, silence filling the air between them for a few moments before he stands, smacking his hand against Gilbert’s knee. “Get up, c’mon.”

Gil frowns, but he stands to follow the man regardless, who leads them to their horses and mounts up. “Where you takin’ me?”

“We’ll go fishin’. Ain’t no hunt, but it’s somethin’.”

“Ain’t no way you can hold a pole, Duffy,” he warns, saddling up on Mabel.

“Nah, but you can.” Gilbert makes a face at the words. “None a that. It’ll be nice, an’ we can cook ‘em up or sell ‘em.”

“I ain’t much of a fisher...” He’s damn near pouting, Kieran thinks, and he has to bite his cheek to keep the look of amusement off his face.

“I’m plenty good. All ya gotta do is be my hands, basically.” This time he does grin, right at Gil, wide and relaxed.

It puts some kinda feeling in him, and his sour look softens. Yeah, it’s been good having Kieran with him. The company is good, and it’s oddly comforting to have a planned goal to work towards.

They end up riding east some, to the river. Kieran had thrown out something about a bluegill, west and in the lake, but Gilbert doesn’t rightly know what the hell that is. Fish is fish. Kieran had laughed, and he felt whatever that was, earlier, that had his expression softening from where it sat, displeased at the idea of sitting at the water with what is essential a fancy stick with string.

Kieran is handing the folded down rod to Gilbert what feels like too soon, and that displeased look has once more made home on his face as he maneuvers the rod to its rightful size.

“I ain’t seen you so antsy before, Beck. Thought you was sure a this plan a yours?” Kieran calls from besides Branwen, pulling out a container of cricket bait.

“I  _am_ sure. I just got a lotta energy when I got plans is all. Hate waitin’.” The man’s come over, placing the small tin into Gilbert’s hand. He can feel warmth linger where the man’s fingers brushed his skin. He can also feel movement in the tin. “What the  _hell_  is this, Duffy?”

“Crickets.” Gilbert’s brows shoot up.

“You...” He glances at the tin in his hand. “Why the hell they  _alive?_ ”

“Y’want ‘em fresh, to attract the fish.” He grabs the lid of it, twisting it off while Gilbert holds it steady, easing the pole to the ground and holding it to himself with an arm while he grabs hold of one of the things. Kieran gets the lid back on and sets the tin aside, and Gilbert scrunches his face up as he grabs the hook to slide it on. “Ain’t much different than worms.”

“Plenty different. Worms ain’t got legs.” Kieran laughs, easing himself to sit down on the ledge of the dirt as Gilbert casts the line. He’s pretty sure he did it right. Well... it’s more he isn’t sure if it can be done wrong, outside of snagging the line on somebody on the back swing. Like he said, he isn’t much of a fisher.

“Now ya wait fer a bite.” 

“I know that much, at least.” Kieran just shrugs, and they sit in silence for a good while, just staring out at the water. Well, he’s staring at it. Kieran seems to be looking all over and just enjoying nature. “....How long am I s’posed to—”

The line jerking taut interrupts him, and he braces a foot to pull at the rod and starts reeling before Kieran reaches a hand out. “Wait! Don’t reel yet, ya gotta tire it out!”

“ _What?_ ” Not a fisher, indeed. “Ain’t you just meant to reel the bastard in?”

“If ya wanna break yer line and waste bait, yeah.” Kieran pushes himself up, getting in the man’s space and putting a hand over his on the reel to keep the fish from pulling more line. “Don’t let it take too much line, y’wanna hold steady sometimes unless the line gets too tense. Fight against the direction it’s tryna pull ya in.” 

Gilbert takes the guidance, and soon after Kieran’s stepped back again to let the man handle the rest of it. Once it’s in, the man is holding it, staring at it for a few moments before looking to him. “This, uh... This a bass, right?”

He barely bites back a chuckle, rubbing at his nose in an attempt to hide his amusement. “Uh, no. Steelhead Trout. Good catch for someone who says they ain’t a fisher.”

"I mean, I... I just stood there an’ reeled it in.” Guess it’s a decent pay off for just waiting a while then reeling it in. Well, once you actually... know how to reel it in. In fact, outside his initial mistake of reeling while the fish is still struggling, he isn’t too sure how you could mess up fishing any more than that.

Well, at least until a little while later, when another fish bites and his line snaps half way. Kieran had patted him on the back anyways when he had kicked mud into the water in frustration. It was a longer while before the next fish bit, but whatever it was felt a hell of a lot bigger. He learned his lesson well enough with the line tension, and makes sure to give it slack before it’s too much without losing too much progress.

“Well god damn,” Kieran mutters as Gilbert has to lean down to get the fish out of the water. Big enough that he has to use both his hands to hold it up. Thing’s covered in little sharp bits.

“Christ, what is this?”

“Lake Sturgeon.” He whistles as Gilbert turns and walks it away from the water.

“Uh, this ain’t no lake.”

“No it ain’t.” Gilbert wraps it up, and he has to set it on Mabel’s rear with the size of it. “Ain’t unheard of, but pretty crazy nonetheless.”

“I think that’s enough for fishin’, that sucker’s pretty big.” He pats the thing, turning his head towards the sun, eyes squinted. “Plus, last a the daylight won’t stay long.”

“You just don’t wanna sit an’ stare at the water anymore,” Kieran teases, but he’s putting the crickets away anyways.

“Eh... it weren’t so bad. Guess the company was the bigger issue in the past.” Kieran is already in the saddle as he finishes securing the fish on Mabel, getting himself up and situated next.

“Glad I could change yer mind, then.” He gives Branwen a light kick, spurring him to go. “Probably helped ya learned how to actually fish, too.”

“Oh, quiet. I never got taught proper. Just tried what I saw.”

“Who was you watchin’ that was so awful at fishin?”

“My pa.” Kieran had been grinning, amusement obvious in both his tone and expression, but it drops into a weak smile as he glances to the man to gauge his reaction. But he’s wearing a smile of his own, like it was some kind of joke, but the two of them found humor in the wrong parts.

Gilbert is a strange man, Kieran decides. Kind enough to rescue and look after a stranger, yet just as easily ready to kill a man for being between him and a score. He supposes it’s just the life some people live, though. A life that’s getting harder and harder to live as the country becomes more and more tame. It has him thinking of the gang, as they ride in silence. They’ve come all the way from Colter. Blackwater before that, even. Seems like they didn’t really get to stay in any place too long — and hell, the Pinkertons came right into camp once. Then Sean...

He missed the Irishman. The man had hassled him same as everyone else, sure, even damn near broke his nose for no reason once, but he also  _tried_. Asked him what his story was. Asked him what Colm was like, and tried to comfort him in a gruff sorta way when he said his old boss scared him. He thought of the man as a friend, at least, to himself. He’s not too sure the man would have agreed they were friends, with everyone still reminding him at every opportunity that he was an O’Driscoll. And everyone else was surely hit plenty hard by the man’s passing, too. Young as he was, confident, skilled. Asked for trouble plenty, but still. He’s sure Karen was sweet on him, too. 

“You alright?”

He turns his head suddenly, slightly startled from his wandering thoughts. “Huh?”

“Said, you alright? Got some kinda... look in yer eye.” Gilbert doesn’t wanna say sadness, but he hopes the man gets what he means.

“...Yeah. Yeah. Was just thinkin’ ‘bout... things.” He squints at Kieran for a few moments, like he can see right through the words and into the exact thoughts he’s having, even though he knows it isn’t possible. But the man doesn’t press the issue, facing forward again, and they continue in silence for a short while again. “...The gang. I was, uh, thinkin’ about them. We lost someone, not too long before... y’know.”

Gilbert hums. “Sorry to hear that. D’you... wanna talk?”

For some reason, that feels surprising. To not be given a clap on the back and a drink, or some awkward feeling attempt to lighten the mood. Or to just be told to stop complaining, or whining, or whatever words someone wants to use that day. “...His name was Sean.”

He tells Gilbert about the young Irishman. About how he had first seen the man, brought back all disheveled from a near lynching, immediately throwing himself into a party. How that turned out to just be how the man was, loud and happy and confident in a way that either irritated you to hell and back or leaked into you. The time he knocked him flat on his ass for absolutely no reason. How the man had made efforts to get to know him, late at night, around the campfire. 

It had felt like some kind of knot wound inside him undid itself, loose and more open in its absence. Being able to just talk, lament the loss without being criticized over something. Gilbert had simply listened, and when he had no more words to spill, the man had urged Mabel closer, their legs bumping together with a faint clink of the stirrups as he gave Kieran a pat on the back.

He thinks, maybe, he’s found a new friend, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually caught those fish in that river, using cricket bait. I actually continued longer than them and caught three Lake Sturgeons.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran’s never experienced a job gone so smooth. So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise something bad happens so soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with the first new tag additions!

In spite of how antsy Gilbert had been earlier, it feels like daylight is gone abruptly, almost, caught up in reminiscing on things and people lost. The sun had set, and it was time for their plan to come into action. A foolproof one, Gilbert assures, as they dismount in the dark of the trees behind the bank, back enough that they can sneak the rest of the way. There is, in fact, a guard, stood at the back door with a rifle. Kieran shoots Gilbert a look, and as if on cue the stranger turns his back to them, starting a slow survey and patrol.

Kieran catches the glint of sharp metal in his peripheral before the man is moving forward, body bent low until he makes out a faint wet sound and watches the body fall. He stands from his spot before approaching as Gilbert dons the fallen man’s hat before dragging the man over to a bush to at least make it a fraction harder to notice. At least, if they miss the blood in the dirt.

Kieran kicks at the dirt, trying to at least put a little effort in hiding it as Gilbert kneels at the backdoor, pulling out the lockbreaker to try and get the door unlocked. “Didn’t you say that was quick?”

“Shut it, Duffy. Workin’ it as fast as I can,” he says in place of  _ ‘This is actually tougher than I was expectin’, shit.’  _ There’s more precision required than those little mobile ones, he’s learning. Or he figures, at least, as he’s only ever actually used this thing once before. Something he purposely forgot to mention, since he was under the impression it didn’t matter and locks is locks, why  _ wouldn’t _ this work the same? He supposes, though, you can move those little ones into an easier to work position, huh. He’s moments away from admitting his shame in the matter when the door finally relents with a metallic scrape. His shoulders droop in relief before he pushes himself up to stand, holding the door open. “After you.”

“Oh, a gentleman,” Kieran says dryly, stepping in. He’s looking around slowly, taking the sight of the bank’s locked away parts as if it were unreal. And, well. It sort of is. To be in a bank, at night, silent. Not a single folk in town woken by guns, or explosives. His gaze shoots back to the door, and Gilbert, at the sound of the door being not quite closed.

“Told ya.” He gets an eyeroll in response, Kieran stepping further in to motion to the vault door. 

“An’ what about this one then?”

Gilbert looks it over, rubbing a knuckle across his nose. “Can probably crack it… S’like the littler ones, just bigger.” He gets his ear close, starts turning the dial slow. 

Kieran is looking at him in disbelief, brow knitted together. “You know how, right? To crack those?”

“Course I do. Now, an’ I say this in the kindest way possible,” he leans away from the safe, glancing to the other with the corner of his lip quirked just slightly. “Shut the hell up.”

And, well, he does. He knows how to crack them, too, but he’s only done it a few times, and always the small ones. Certainly doesn’t have the confidence in his capability with that the way Gilbert seems too, and even with his nonchalant assurances — hardly even that, as he said outright he can only  _ probably _ crack it — he’s not feeling as good about this. Between the helpless feeling his bum arm has left him with and the idea that the man might, in fact,  _ not  _ be able to open the damn thing, he’s stressing. 

“Duffy?” 

He’s tugged from his spiraling thoughts and frustrations, a thumb to his mouth where he had begun to bite at it, looking suddenly to Gilbert, who then pulls the safe door open. The relief is obvious on him, making the other man grin crookedly. “’Bout damn time,” he grumbles, stepping in and going right to one of the safes to get started on it.

“You are just a pleasure to rob with, you know that?” He shakes his head, grin still in place as he walks in after. The success so far has him giddy and confident, now past the parts he has shreds of doubt about, unable to act like there’s any bite to what he says.

And if the grin that breaks out on Kieran means anything once he’s pulling money from a safe, dropping it into one of the bags, he’s just as giddy now. That’s how the rest goes, the two of them grinning wildly, stuffing money and valuables into their bags in between the near silence of the combination dials turning. It feels unreal, like when they had first stepped into the bank without immediate fear of the law being upon them. 

They push through the back door, and there’s no law waiting for them. There’s no yelling in the town, nobody calling for the sheriff. Kieran laughs, high and airy, grinning wide. Nobody knows what they just did. They don’t have to run to keep themselves out of a cell or worse. It’s the smoothest god damn crime Kieran’s ever seen, let alone been a part of. They get back to their mounts, securing the bags, and he can’t help but think about how this is the best luck he’s had in… well. Point is, he’s never had much luck, and he’d be lying if he didn’t have an inkling in his mind that there was gonna be a whole slew of lawmen waiting for them outside the bank. Maybe he had finally kicked whatever it was that gave him such shit luck. Or maybe the O’Driscolls beat it out of him. Who knows. Point is, it’s surely turned.

“You wanna see if the store’s got anythin’ fer celebratin’?” Gilbert asks as they secure their take on the horses for now.

Kieran glances to the general store, eyebrows high as he looks back at the man. “That’s pushin’ it, ain’t it?”

“Nah. We’ll just take a few bottles from the back, won’t even realize they’re gone.” He’s headed to the store before Kieran even gets a response out.

He’s about to call out to him, but stops himself as he realizes how bad an idea that is. So instead he sighs and hurries after the man. “Yer just askin’ fer trouble, Beck…”

“We’ll be fine.” He gets through the back door’s lock a bit smoother this time, and steps in with careful steps. “Keep an eye out. Just gonna grab a couple an’ we’ll go.”

“Yer too much…” He shakes his head, turning to stand outside the door, keeping an eye out just to be safe. It’s only for a few minutes, and Gilbert is standing beside him, bottlenecks held between his fingers and gesturing to their horses.

Kieran takes the lead when they head off into the night, both of them spurring their mounts fast to get distance before they settle for the night, using it to head closer to Shady Belle as well. They should be there in no time tomorrow, and the take should more than make up for his absence and their doubts about his loyalties. Which… well, if they ask, he’s gonna point out that he was taken right from there. But for now, they’ve got some good distance between themselves and Rhodes, and they’re tucked away well enough. They cook up the sturgeon, splitting it between themselves and stowing the rest when they can’t eat anymore. Beyond that, they finally count the take over a near empty bottle of whiskey.

“Good take. S’bout seven hundred,” Gilbert waves the bills, getting a pleased laugh from Kieran. “How d’they split it?”

“Oh, uh, gang’s s’posed to get half, an’ we split the rest.” Gilbert nods, counting half of it to set aside, then once more for their own.

“Pretty good, I think.” Gilbert thumbs through his share, whistling low before pocketing it. Mabel’s ears perk towards him, but she doesn’t move towards him.

“Real good, considerin’ there weren’t no law involved.” He had his doubts, but he’ll admit that Gilbert had a good idea with this. If luck wasn’t on their side it still could’ve gone bad — but it didn’t, and they made out with a good take to bring back. “Thank ya fer helpin’ me, Gilbert. I couldn’t a got this on my own.”

“It ain’t nothin’.” It’s the first time Kieran’s called him by his first name. The familiarity in it, the sincerity in the man’s words, has him smiling into the bottle. 

“I mean it. If- if it weren’t fer you, I’d be dead. Ya didn’t… ya didn’t have to save me, or make sure I got any better.”

Gilbert looks to the man, meeting the eyes he didn’t realize were looking to him. It shocks him wordless for a moment, simply staring back at the gratitude in the man’s gaze. He tears his own gaze away, looking to the ground and rubbing at his jaw. “It… it ain’t nothin’, Kieran. Just felt like the right thing to do.” He’s silent for a beat, finger tapping against the bottle before he takes a swig and passes it to the man. “‘Sides, I figure we’re friends now. An’ friends look out fer each other.”

“Well, we was strangers when you found me.” Gilbert doesn’t have anything to add to that, seeming almost embarrassed from such sincere gratitude, eyes locked to the ground. He takes a couple swigs in silence before he speaks again. “Hey, you got an instrument or somethin?”

“Instrument? No. Why?”

“Music’d be good.”

“Yer gang got a musician?”

“Yeah. He’s real good, plays guitar. Writes his own songs, too.” He sighs, stretching his legs out where he sits on an overturned log. “How ‘bout drinkin’ songs? You know any?”

Gilbert hums in thought, trying to remember through the growing haze from the whiskey. “Not well enough, no. Sorry. You?”

“I… know a couple. Pretty easy to pick up.”

And they end up like that; Kieran going through a song and Gilbert awkwardly joining in until he gets the hang of the words, growing in confidence until they’re singing louder than they should for the night time, laughing through lyrics about women and whiskey and being on the run as the bottles get emptier. 

Eventually after a song, with the laughter shaking his whole body, Gilbert pushes himself up with a bit of a stumble. “I got, gotta piss. M’be right back.”

Kieran just laughs. “Don’t go fallin’.” He gets an incoherent grumble in response as the man’s foot catches on a rock, body jerking slightly before he disappears into the brush, and he’s left alone with the whiskey and company leaving him happy and warm.

He should've known that couldn’t last. Guess he just thought it wouldn’t have been so comically soon as the moment the other man had wandered off.

“Well, well. If it ain’t ol’ Kieran Duffy.” The voice made Kieran’s blood cold, sobering him up some as his eyes lock onto the source, on the familiar splash of green amongst dark colors. He recognizes the man who spoke immediately — someone Colm had picked up between Kieran’s two kidnappings, but also the man who had given him the last beating before leaving. Before Gilbert had showed up. The other man he hadn’t seen before, but that didn’t matter much. They knew he was a traitor that needed to be made a lesson of. “You left a real mess. Colm weren’t none too pleased.”

“I-I hope he weren’t,” he tries to bite, but the shake and raised pitch of his voice takes any ferocity from it, just causing the two men to laugh. He’s scared. There’s no way he can take two men, not when his arm’s busted and he’s got whiskey in him, not when they’re already practically on him.

“But look at you out here. Dutch kick you out?” The man comes closer, the other staying back a few feet and watching. “For rattin’ on him, too?” 

Kieran looks away, lips pressed tightly into a frown. The man laughs at him again.

“Pathetic. Colm should’ve ended you a long time ago.” 

He sees a glint of metal, in his peripheral, before he can really register it. The O’Driscoll pulls his gun, held ready but not aimed at him. He hears the wet sound behind the man, almost misses the thud of a body hitting the ground as a gunshot drowns it out, splattering him in blood and leaving him wide-eyed as the man drops, inches from him, close enough that their legs bump on the ground.

In their wake stands Gilbert, gun smoking, blood dripping from the knife in his other hand. An angry, wild look in his eyes, nostrils flared. And then the man is stumbling off some, to be sick behind a tree. Kieran stares at the O’Driscoll’s, still shocked, feels the blood drying on his face and in his beard.

“Moved too fast after that whiskey,” Gilbert rasps, walking a bit steadier than he had been when he left, wiping at his mouth. “Killed the mood. You alright?”

“Y-yeah. M’fine.” He had kind of gotten used to not constantly be looking over his shoulder. That’ll show him, huh. Here he thought his luck had finally turned around. Then again.

He watches Gilbert as the man takes a swig of whiskey to rid himself of the taste in his mouth, before he starts moving the bodies. Like it was nothing. Rescuing him, again. 

“Y’wanna sleep?” Gilbert’s question draws him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see a handkerchief held out to him.

“There… there might be more O’Driscolls about.” He takes it, scrubbing at the blood the best he can until he can get to actually washing. Oh, he can already hear miss Grimshaw. 

Gilbert hums. “I’ll keep watch fer a while then.” Just like that. Like he hadn’t just saved the man again, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, like he hadn’t pretty much been taking care of him all this time.

But what the hell can he do? He was honest, earlier. He’d be fucked if Gilbert hadn’t come along. 

“Thank ya.” It’s not as genuine as last time, laced with bitterness over his current incompetence. Gilbert hums back, once more, getting his rifle from Mabel to sit out and keep watch. 

His only consolation over it, he thinks as he drifts off, is that tomorrow they’ll be back with the gang, and there’s plenty he can help with even while his arm gets better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit shorter, but I've also been considering writing for another OC I've made in the setting and I don't know if I want to get started on it or wait until I'm finished with this one. It'd take place somewhere within five or so years before the first game, though.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading so far! I really appreciate it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not quite the reunion either of them expect, but the point stands that they’re at Shady Belle. The same can’t be said for some.

Kieran wakes before the sun has risen.

Almost suddenly, eyes wide and staring up at the tarp of the tent, pulse quicker than it ought to be, just waking up. A nightmare, maybe, he thinks; though he remembers nothing of the sort. Just the fuzziness of last night, the fun of drinking and singing ruined and leaving him fairly sobered before sleeping. But without the benefits, as he pushes himself up and gets a throbbing through his head for his troubles.

It’s not yet light out, their fire nearly dead with the faintest glow of dying embers. Not far off is Gilbert, passed out slumped next to the tree he had sat against to keep watch, drooling into the dirt.

* * *

He can’t bring himself to get angry about the man falling asleep when he said he’d be keeping watch, not with everything he’s already done for him. Besides, they aren’t dead, and it doesn’t look like anyone went through their things, so there’s no harm done. They’re almost back to camp anyways, too.

Right. Suddenly waking up so suddenly and early isn’t  _that_  big of a surprise. He’s anxious to get back, to get it over with, good or bad. There’s no point trying to go back to sleep, either, since the sun won’t be long, and his nerves will only get worse if he just lies there. So he gets coffee started to help his head, enough for Gilbert to have some when he wakes. Brings the fire back to life.

It isn’t until he’s getting through some of that trout that Gilbert stirs, probably coaxed awake by the aromas.

“Y’cookin’ somethin’?” He slurs, voice rough from sleep and drinking the night before, eyes squinted as he shifts onto his elbow, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand.

“That trout.” Kieran pours the man a cup of coffee and holds it out to him, getting a barely coherent ‘thanks’ as the man takes it to down the whole cup.

“Yer up early,” his voice comes smoother now, a bit more awake and throat soothed by the still warm drink. “Nervous?”

“A little.” He pokes at the fish with his knife, flipping it. “Worried they’re just gonna think I left back to Colm.”

“They ain’t gonna think that. Not even a fool’d come back after doin’ that.” He pushes himself up, dusting at his legs just to come a bit closer and pour himself another cup.

“So I’m a fool now, huh?”

“Maybe you is.” He musses Kieran’s hair, giving a light push as the man laughs. “We headed out after we eat?”

“S’what I was thinkin’, yeah.” He turns his head to gauge Gilbert’s reaction, only finding a nod that seems more to himself than him.

“They ain’t gonna...” He pauses, pursing his lips. “Is it gonna be okay, me comin’ in with you?”

“Sure. I mean... I hope it is.” He didn’t really think about the gang rejecting the man. Was more focused on the idea of him dropping him off and being done with it. “I... I don’t see why not. Yer skilled.”

Gilbert hums, finishing his cup and shaking it a bit dryer. “That fish done?”

“Yup.” He slices through it, stabbing through a portion of it and motioning to the other. Gilbert draws his knife to get it, both of them letting it cool a bit before they eat. A bit bland, but it gets the job done, and his stomach already feels better after being emptied the night before.

“I’ll start packin’ things up.” He gets an appreciative hum in response, and he gets starts on rolling everything back up while Kieran pours the percolator out and kicks dirt onto the fire until only the faintest glow remains. 

This is it, he thinks. This is where things are gonna end up either just fine, or downright horrible. They’re going to march right into camp. Right to his fate. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly.

“It’ll turn out alright, Kieran.” Gilbert’s hand on his good shoulder pulls him from his thoughts, turning his head to meet the man’s eyes. That assured look in them, the same when he had talked of the bank, even though there was plenty that could have gone wrong about that.

He appreciates it none the less, weakly smiling as a response. He wonders if the man’s ever even experienced bad luck. Everything seems to work out fine for him. Hunting, fishing even though he said he was bad, taking down men with ease and only some scrapes and grazes to show for it. The kind of natural luck that doesn’t have you worried over the things that could go so wrong. The kind of luck he always wished he had.

Except, he’s only known Gilbert for a short while, a bit less than a month, and most of it spent out in the woods and hunting. Has only seen him be his savior, execute a couple plans well, and track animals down. He’s never seen the man injured, or when he’s in a tight spot, or in some kind of shoot out. Even when he had first saved him, a lot had been taken out silently.

Well. He’s sure he’ll get to see plenty if the man sticks around. From the stories they’ve exchanged here and there, the man’s never been one for groups, either, and he worries the others might get uppity about someone acting like they run alone. 

...No, he’ll be fine. Not once in the time he’s known the man has Gilbert even treated him as a burden, which speaks volumes to how well the man will do to look after his fellow members. If they become fellow members. God, he’s really getting ahead of himself. A part of him is excited at the prospect — to no longer be the lowest because he was the newest and from an enemy gang, as bad as it sounds once the thought actually manifests. He didn’t fit in the way Sadie had, though he won’t deny there’s a huge difference between their circumstances. Or the fact that it makes total sense, considering she scares the ever loving shit out of him most of the time. 

“You ready to go?” 

The words snap him out of his thoughts yet again, looking over to Gilbert, who’s already gotten their things fastened and is pulling himself into the saddle. “Yeah. M’ready.” He tucks the percolator into his saddlebag before he gets himself up as well. He feels a bit bad now, having zoned out while Gilbert got their things ready to go. But that’s that, then. No more keeping them from returning from the others. “...Let’s go.”

They spur their mounts forward, Kieran taking the lead again. It’s not a long way from Shady Belle. His stomach feels tight.

The feeling only worsens when there’s nobody to shout a ‘who’s there’ as they push through the trees. For a terrifying few moments, he worries that they’ve already moved on.

“Kieran!” All at once, that tightness gives way to a giddier feeling, as his eyes drift to the source of the voice — Mary-Beth, hands clasped together and smiling brightly at him. “ _Kieran’s back!_ ”

He tucks his chin against his chest, grin nearly splitting his face in two as he rubs his knuckles at his nose to try and hide it until he can make it something softer, dampen the warmth from the woman’s reaction. 

It’s easy enough to do when it’s Sadie who comes out to her call, pausing only to squint at him for a moment before coming over. She’s right to him by the time he’s gotten off Branwen.

“Where the hell you  _been_ , Kieran?” There’s a venom in the words — but even after being gone a while, and steering clear of the woman’s path in the past, he knows that it’s nowhere near as harsh as she’s capable of being.

“W-well, I got grabbed and... well, beaten pretty bad. By O’Driscolls.” He motions weakly to the sling, the most prominent evidence of what he’d been through. A couple of the nastier marks still linger, hidden by clothes and easy to ignore with a bit of painkillers and not smacking into things. “I woulda been dead if, if Gilbert here didn’t stumble on their hideout.”

Their eyes turn to the man they hadn’t paid attention to, focused on the return of a member. Gilbert stands frozen, staring back with his eyebrows shot up, foot barely out of his stirrup. He coughs. “Uh... howdy.”

Oh, there’s more of that ferocity, in Sadie’s eyes. Still softer than it could be, but enough to make Kieran swallow. “You brought a god damn  _stranger_  here?”

“Well, h-he ain’t... He was helpin’ me out, so my arm could, uh, heal proper, an’ all that.” His fingers twitch, hand raising to his bad wrist for a moment, only brushing his fingers over them before he stops himself. “I, I didn’t wanna rush back with someone I just met, but it woulda been dangerous to go alone, seein’ as I could... could barely walk.”

Sadie’s eyes are narrowing, expression tightening, prepared to snarl and bite. It reminds Gilbert of cougars.

“We brought money,” he pipes up, hoping to calm the woman. She seems to be the boss, it feels like, though Kieran had mentioned a man named Dutch. 

“You brought money.” It does the trick, her expression smoothing somewhat, eyes burning into him. There’s a fire burning in her, he can tell. 

“Yes ma’am. ‘Bout four-fifty, for y’all.” He comes closer, finally, cautious in his approach. “Kieran insisted on not comin’ back empty handed.”

It seems to do the trick in appeasing her, at least somewhat. He doesn’t think there’s any way to get rid of that fire, but for now it seems to be a safe kind of heat. “You got law on the two of you, then?”

“No, ma’am,” Kieran says before Gilbert can, his smile coming back. “We broke the lock at night an’ picked the safes. We was out without anybody even knowin’.”

She nods, finally stepping back some, hands on her hips. Gilbert reaches into his bag, holding the money out to her. The others give him an odd look.

“...Ain’t you in charge?”

It draws a laugh from her, and whatever it is that’s funny, she takes it from him. “I’ll put it in the box.” And just like that, it seems like that’s the okay. He’s here, as much as Kieran. Mary-Beth comes closer again as Sadie’s walking away, smiling wide.

“We missed you, Kieran.” There’s something underneath it,  _I missed you,_  but she doesn’t say it.

“I... I missed y’all, too.” He struggles to refrain from grinning so wide his cheeks hurt after just a few moments, heat creeping up his neck. “Where is everyone?”

The question drains the joy from the woman’s face, her gaze dropping to the ground. Suddenly Gilbert feels like he shouldn’t be standing here, like he isn’t meant to be seeing or hearing vulnerabilities. 

“We... A lot’s happened since you been gone, Kieran.” She raises her eyes to his again, already looking watery. Her hand finds his good elbow, gently guiding him off to sit down. 

Gilbert opts not to follow, to give them privacy to mourn people he never knew. Takes it upon himself to get the saddles off their horses and brush them until he gets acquainted with the things he should be doing around the place.

“Dutch and them... Arthur, Javier, Bill, and Micah. Charles only barely got back an’ told us they was on a boat somewhere until things cooled down with the law, and they’d be back.” She looks away again, closing her eyes and biting at her lip. “Hosea... and Lenny. They died robbin’ the bank.”

“No...” Lenny was just a kid. Had so much more life left to live, cut short by this lifestyle. By bad luck. And Hosea... even as much of a black sheep as he was, Hosea was always kind. At least, as kind as any of them could be. And always had wise words that made him long for his own father back. 

“John got arrested. Headed for a noose, no doubt.” She brings her hand up, finger wiping at a tear before it has a chance to truly fall. “Abigail barely slipped the law. An’ now we’re gettin’ ready to pack up and move somewhere else.”

“Movin’? What about the others?” He got back just in time, it sounds like. 

“We’re gonna do what we can. Hope they find the letters we’re leavin’ with the post.” She sighs. Kieran swallows. If he had to rely on that, if they had been a bit too late, he really would’ve been shit out of luck. His thoughts are cut short as she places her hand on his, resting on his leg. “It’s good to have you back, Kieran. After everything...” She gives his hand a squeeze. “We needed somethin’ good.”

He can feel the heat creeping up his neck again, no doubt coloring his face. “Well, I, I couldn’t just not come back...” For a moment, he considers turning his hand over, intertwining their fingers. Would that be too much? They haven’t seen each other in almost a month. Then the moment’s passed, her hand back in her own lap. “What, uh... Why’d everyone think I was gone, anyhow?”

Mary-Beth sighs, wringing her hands together for just a quick moment. “Arthur said you was probably just lost in town after drinkin’. Everybody figured you’d show up eventually.” She looks away for a moment, frowning to herself. “Miss Grimshaw said she’d make sure people kept an eye out for you, but... Fat lot of good that did.”

“Hey, I... I’m alright. I ended up alright.” He nearly goes for her hand, this time, only for his confidence to waver at the last moment, patting her upper arm.

“Kieran,” she laughs softly, a bit weakly, but as if it came sudden and surprisingly, “your  _arm_  is broken.”

“Well... yeah.” He was certainly beat damn near to death, too, but. He’s not gonna bring that up. “I ain’t dead, and Gilbert said it’d be fine in maybe two months.”

“Oh, is he a doctor?” Her eyes find the man in question, over by the horses still. It reminds her of Kieran’s own early days, staying among the horses whenever he could. “Looks pretty young to be a doctor.”

“He’s...” He pauses. “I ain’t actually sure how old he is. But, he ain’t a doctor, but he’s helped some, he said. Figure he’s at least my age, ‘cause he said he’s helped injured soldiers an’ such.”

“Well, I’m glad he found you when he did. How is your arm?”

“It... hurts sometimes, but not too bad.” Despite the topic, he’s got a smile that won’t go away from the woman’s attention and concern. “I’ve got some painkiller fer the worst of it.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’m glad.” Movement draws her eyes again, back in the direction Gilbert was — met with the sight of a swiftly approaching Grimshaw with the confused man in tow. “Uh oh.”

Kieran’s expression change is almost comical, and Mary-Beth has to bring her hand up to hide the amusement bubbling on her face as the man's shoulders hunch up, having now also seen the woman approaching.

“Up. Up, now.” The man obliges, sharing a confused look with Gilbert — though his own has more worry than the other man’s. “You may have been gone so long you up and forgot how to  _bathe_ , but the two of you could bring the law by yer damn smell alone.”

Well, the worry drains from Kieran. It’s swiftly replaced by embarrassment that heats his face up as Mary-Beth suppresses what he can only assume is a fit of giggles. Gilbert looks like he wants to argue something, but clenches his jaw tight for a moment. She shoves the both of them at the water barrel. 

“I swear, if you let them, men would be caked in mud and blood all the damn year,” she laments to the younger woman, voice not lowered in the slightest and clear as day seeing as she has to call back to the woman. 

“Warm welcome.” He looks back to Kieran, scratching at the side of his neck. Pauses for a few second as his fingers come back with a couple flakes of what he figures is dry blood. Alright. Maybe she made a good point. 

“That’s miss Grimshaw.” He chuckles, shaking his hand in the water, rubbing his fingers to his palm before he leans over to scrub at his face. It’s not the best way to get clean, but it feels good to get rid of some of the dirt and blood on him. Runs his hand through his hair with it the best he can, too, one handed. “’M gonna change, too.”

Gilbert nods, and the man walks off to go find a change of clothes. He ought to change, too, but he’ll probably wait until he’s getting ready to lay down. Scrubs water over his face and neck, then unties his hair and runs wet hands through it until he feels it’s good enough for now. 

Now that he’s done that, though, and Kieran’s gone off somewhere... he feels pretty lost. Last time he was in any kind of camp wasn’t a daily kind of living, and he certainly wasn’t given much responsibility, if any. He spots Sadie again, though, speaking with a broad, dark skinned man and an older feller. Figures he may as well make an effort to be put to use.

He doesn’t get a chance to catch anything they’re saying, seeing as the largest of them notices him approaching almost immediately, nodding in his direction and causing the other two to turn to him as he nears.

“Did you get any trouble on yer way here?” Sadie’s question catches him off guard, given his reason for approaching, and he pauses before he’s right to them.

“Uh, no, ma’am... well — not really, no.” He scratches at his neck, where the ends of his hair are sticking to his neck. “Last night when we was camped out, two O’Driscolls tried to give us trouble, but we killed ‘em. Didn’t find any others after that.”

“O’Driscolls, huh?” There’s something to her tone, the way her eyes narrow just slightly.

“Yes ma’am.” Kieran had mentioned them being enemies. Also mentioned how he used to  _be_  one. “But, I wanted to ask if there was anything that needed doin’.”

There’s a moment where it seems like she’s about to bite something out, but then it softens, just  _barely_. “See Grimshaw or Pearson. She takes care a chores an’ things, and he takes care of food. An’ we need everything packed an’ ready to go, pretty soon.”

“Uh, sure thing.” Well, he knows who Grimshaw is, at least. Looking around, Pearson isn’t too hard to spot, he assumes, as there’s just the one man working at meats. He glances back to the three of them for just a moment, wanting to ask if they’re planning to move, but thinks against it. Isn’t exactly his business if they move somewhere else or not.

If they are, though, he figures food is the lesser concern, considering there’s plenty else to be packed up and made ready. So it’s Grimshaw he seeks out, almost sheepishly, considering their initial meeting. It’s easy enough to become more comfortable, though, as she gives him direction and tasks and makes a comment here and there that the men don’t offer help as freely as they ought to, the woman’s sharpness seeming a tad softer the more things get done. Stress, he figures. Starts to see it in everyone, easing ever so slightly the closer they get to being ready to leave, but ever present. He wonders if it has to do with the handful of people Kieran’s mentioned that he hasn’t seen once since they showed up. It isn’t his place to ask about them, though, so he doesn’t. In fact, he puts as much work in packing things up and cleaning as he can, only sharing a few words with others as he does so, and he ends up wanting to lay down and just take a nap already by the time it’s all done, but he hopes it’s appreciated. 

He does take a seat to rest, however. It’s still light out, though the sun is about ready to set, the day lost to packing and cleaning, and he feels like he needs to go back to that bucket to splash his face again. Instead, he just scrubs at it with his hands, then finally ties his hair back again now that it’s dry and he has a moment. Stares out at the swampy river reflecting the oranges of the sky. 

Thinks about just what the  _hell_ he’s gotten himself into.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lakay is a far cry from a place to call home, but it’s relatively safe. All that’s left is to feel more at home with the gang.

Lakay is all kinds of awful. The air is thick, making it seem warmer than it is despite the year cooling off, and ensuring that you’d sweat just by standing still. The bugs are annoying, but not ever-present. All in all, not something Gilbert would like to get used to. Then again, it wouldn’t seem so bad if he  _ was _ used to it. The point still stands that it  _ sucks. _

With the air thick and leaving him feeling constantly clammy, it also left him in a state of constant discomfort, itching to strip away some layers. Instead, he opted to wearing a looser shirt he usually only broke out in the summer. It certainly breathed better, even if that didn’t mean much when the air was warm and thick.

That wasn’t the only reason he hated the location. It quickly got to him, how small the space was. All of them holed up together, for the most part, in a long shack with bedrolls and hammocks taking up all but a walkway through it. They were friendly folk, all things considered, but it was... a lot. Too much. He would feel cramped in there, getting his boots on with three others present, only for two more to enter and busy themselves. His only consolation had been learning that they all thought the place was too small, too.

He found himself itching for every excuse to step away that they’d allow.  _ You want me to take your guard shift?  _ was his most common, the easiest — especially appreciated at night, when he was luckiest in that regard. He had asked Kieran about jobs one night, when they were smoking, and learned secondhand that they were to be lying low as much as possible. That was more than alright to him, even if he saw Sadie and Charles head out a lot regardless. Sometimes even together, but not as often as he would have thought. Charles, though, seemed to be the one who would bring food back.

That was something. He had been hesitant to simply leave to hunt, what with the way Sadie still watched him. And if Charles was the only one hunting down real meat, surely it would be appreciated. So after helping Tilly with dishes, he gave her a small gesture of farewell before beelining to where Charles had sat himself.

“You need an extra hand huntin’?”

The man pauses his blade, light against the wood in his hand, and raises his head after a few seconds. “You hunt?”

“Yessir. Ain’t too bad.” He tucks his hands under his armpits, resisting the itch to claw out of his own damn skin. “Seen you, bringin’ back meat an’ all, so…”

“You’re eager to get out of camp.” The man’s tone manages to not make it sound accusatory, and definitely not a question. Maybe… curious. But not especially interested. Vaguely scrutinizing. 

Makes him elaborate without even being asked, leaning forward just so, voice lowered. “I just, I been alone a long while… This is a lot for a feller to get used to real sudden, y’know?”

Charles stares. Well — nothing so simple. Watching, but so blatantly. Looking for something, maybe. And maybe he finds it, because something Gilbert can’t really pin down shifts, and the man gives the smallest of nods. 

“Then go.” It takes him aback, his eyebrows shooting up, and when the man continues he isn’t entirely sure if it’s amusement or annoyance seeping into it, coupled with a wave of his hand, knife still in his grip. “Hunting.”

Huh. He hadn’t expected the man to tell him to just go and do it. Expected, at best, to be brought along next time he went out. At worst, to be told to piss off and take what jobs are given to him. “...Alright.”

He isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he doesn’t waste any time getting ready to do just that, with the intent in mind that there’s a lot more mouths than two to feed. But hunting is something familiar to him, and it doesn’t require the presence of people he’s barely met. Might need to camp out overnight.

He’s securing Mabel and rubbing at her forehead when Kieran steps into his sight, right beside the mare. She immediately pulls from Gilbert’s ministrations to nudge at the man, more familiar with him than any of the others in the gang. 

Her affection only cuts through the poorly masked worry on the man’s face for a moment. “You headin’ out?”

In spite of himself, he can’t help but smile softly. “Mhm,” he hums, petting at her neck. “Asked Charles about huntin’, an’ he said to just… go an’ do it.”

“Oh.” His shoulders relax, and he gives Mabel some attention too, now. “Uh, good luck, then.” He glances to the saddlebags, his fingers twirling a strand of the girl’s mane and looking like he might say something else. He doesn’t. 

“How you been holdin’ up?” Gilbert gestures to the sling, made of a nicer fabric than an old shirt now that they’re settled. 

“I been alright. Doin’ what I can with one arm… Which ain’t too much.” He sighs, smoothing the mane where he’s twirled the strands, patting her gently. “I’d help ya out otherwise.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it none, Kieran,” the man steps back as Gilbert pats his good shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “Whole point a y’all livin’ like this is you look out for each other when one a y’all needs it, right? Give yerself more credit.”

“I guess.” He doesn’t seem too convinced, even if he knows for anyone else in the gang everyone would step up while they recovered from something serious. But he isn’t anyone else in the gang. He’s  _ that damn O’Driscoll. _

“Just don’t strain yerself too much, ya hear? That arm’s gotta heal proper.” All he gets in response is a sigh and a nod as he gets up in the saddle, and he shoots the man a look as he gathers the reigns. “I’m serious, Kieran.”

Kieran shrugs his shoulder, waving a hand. “Guess you better keep an eye on me, then.”

Gilbert chuckles, shaking his head. “Guess I better.” He heads off after that, Kieran feeling a bit foolish for worrying over the man leaving as he searches around for something to do.

—

He isn’t back until late morning, two days later. With just that, though, he’s feeling a million times better, like a horse  _ finally _ let out to run. Had to go west, to Scarlet Meadows, just to bag a deer and a couple rabbits. Not too big a deal aside from trying to hurry the meat back. Though, as he rides in, Sadie’s rifle greets him and lingers longer than what he finds comfortable, even after he confirms he’s no intruder.

Once he’s passed the threshold, though, and hopped off Mabel, that tension eases. Gathers the rabbits up first, dropping them onto Pearson’s table before the man even realizes Gilbert was there, looking to him when he’s carrying the far more noticeable deer carcass to him.

“Was wondering where you went off to. Good to have more meat for the stew.” He gets started with the rabbits, first, tugging the skin away.

“Ain’t too many ways to help around here.” He simply shrugs, though he’s a bit surprised at the nonchalance. “I asked Charles about goin’ out. Didn’t say anything?”

“Oh, he’s not the most talkative man, if you haven’t noticed.” The man chuckles, reaching for his cleaver. “Say, if you’re looking for something to do, why don’t you help me get these skinned and cut up?”

“Sure.” Does just that, and gets right to skinning the deer. It’s a pretty decent pelt, so he makes sure to be careful with it as he goes. They end up setting a lot of the venison aside to salt it; and Gilbert doesn’t think anything of it as he’s guided into cutting vegetables as well, lost in tales of the navy and trips at sea, and the time goes quick to the actual stew being made and ready. Pearson appreciates the eager ear that hadn’t heard any of his stories before, and Gilbert appreciates the one-sided conversation without being pressed to contribute. It’s a level of social he’s a very big fan of, enough to sate his loneliness without the overwhelming presence that is the entire gang at once. 

It’s also the most welcome he’s felt with any of them, sans Kieran. He wonders if Pearson would have been like this if he had helped before now, or if it’s directly related to his absence and coming back. Well, the meat he brought back would certainly help as well, if that’s the case, but still. He decides this is something on his list of preferable camp activities, now, alongside hunting and guard duty. Certainly the most social of the options. But it’s nice. He can almost pretend for moments at a time that this is what it would have been like if his father were a better man, who hadn’t become a crook, with stories of his own about the army. But then, isn’t Pearson one, if just by association to the gang?

Maybe if he had just been a father at all, then. 

“You alright?”

Kieran, of course, is the one to snap him out of his train of thought, the knife he’s got in the water clean for a bit now.

“Yeah. Got lost in my thoughts, is all.” Probably for the best he was pulled out of them, though. He looks Kieran over, eyes drawn to the bottle in his hand. It’s a bit early, and he wants to comment on it, but he holds back. Which is evidently clear on his face, as the man sheepishly shakes the bottle.

“Tryna make the painkillers last.”

Gilbert frowns. “Yer arm hurtin’ bad?”

“Oh, no, ain’t too bad. If it were I’d probably need to get plastered.” With the buzz of the whiskey it’s a faint throb he can easily ignore. “You have a good hunt?”

“Yep. A deer an’ some rabbit.” He gestures to the barrel, filled with salted meats made to last.

“Good, good…” 

They stood in quiet for a few moments, broken up by the sound of Kieran sipping at his whiskey. Gilbert’s wondering what’s on Kieran’s mind that he’s not walked off yet, but the man beats him to it.

“You think we could go fishin’ tomorrow?” Asked so casually, like the man’s arm isn’t useless right now.

That fact isn’t lost on him. But with how cooped up and antsy he felt, he hadn’t really considered how much worse it might be for Kieran, unable to do most activities while he’s in camp, let alone leaving to do other things. “Sure, sounds good.”

The answer seems to lift the man’s spirit a fraction, and Gilbert thinks he should maybe pay closer attention to his friend’s mood. He’s been occupied with feeling… well, overwhelmed, by the change from loner to duo to whole gang. 

If he’s honest, he’s looking forward to spending time alone with Kieran. In camp he’s always either busy himself, or Kieran is busy with whatever he can manage to get done — or, in some cases, looking at books with Mary-Beth. Both cases he feels he doesn’t have a place in interrupting, so he never does. 

After a while, he finds himself helping Pearson again come dinner time, and at a loss afterwards. Nearly everyone in the camp is gathered around a fire or otherwise occupied. The least of them being Mary-Beth, alone by lantern light, eyes focused on the book in her lap. Before he knows it, he’s stepped closer, trying to see what book it is. 

“Do you need somethin’, Beck?” 

The words grab his attention, and he flushes a bit as he realizes how he must have looked. “Was just, uh. Tryna see what you were readin’.”

“You know,” she starts, tapping a finger on her book, eyebrow raised, “you might consider askin’.”

“Didn’t wanna interrupt ya,” he mutters, then clears his throat. “What uh, what’re ya readin’?”

Despite her being the one to suggest he ask, there’s the slightest hesitation before she answers. “Scarlet Letter.”

He has to think for a moment, but — yeah, he knows that book. “That’s a romance, right? Ain’t seen that book in a while.”

“Yes.” She seems a bit embarrassed that he did in fact know the book, but curious enough to ignore it. “You read romance novels?”

“Well. I used to read my sister’s books.” His chest tightens for a moment. “She liked ‘em, so it’s what she had.”

“You’re a strange man, Beck.” If it weren’t for her tone, Gilbert might have been a bit offended. Well, even then, he supposes it’s right, regardless of intent. “I got other books, if you ever wanna borrow any of ‘em.” 

His eyebrows raise. “That’s… mighty kind a you.” Romance isn’t exactly his favorite genre, but he enjoys reading nonetheless. It’s been a long time since he’s read recreationally. Wonders if they’ll seem harder because of it. “Might just take you up on that.”

“It’ll be nice to talk about ‘em with someone who’s read ‘em, too.” 

“Oh, I see,” he laughs softly, rubbing a knuckle against his jaw, “here I thought you was just bein’ nice.”

“I am nothin’ but nice, Beck.” She plays offended, hand over her heart. Any illusion that she truly is, however, is shattered by the smile spreading on her face. “If you ain’t doin’ anything, why don’t you grab a book and sit down?”

He hesitates. There’s definitely things he could find that need doing around their camp, if he walked around.

But… she did extend an invitation. 

“Since yer twistin’ my arm,” he mumbles, earning a laugh as she points him to her personal collection. He pulls one he doesn’t recognize the title of, and settles into the seat beside her. 

The feeling it brings is somewhat nostalgic, like when he would borrow books from his sister, and they would hang around each other in silence as they read. Certainly the most peaceful moments he can remember, and if he could reverse time he would take every time he rode out with his father and brother’s shady friends, and simply read with her instead.

Luckily, those thoughts don’t linger as he’s swept into the story. It’s a very different experience, reading this now that he’s an adult. While he could appreciate the stories back then, only now can he actually feel his stomach flip or his pulse quicken. He feels quite silly over it, in fact. 

Mary-Beth says something he doesn’t quite catch, raising his eyes and blinking at her. “Pardon?” Oh, quite a bit of time has passed. How long have they been sitting here?

“I said, you ever been in love?”

He lets out a small noise, not enough to be a laugh, the corner of his mouth quirked. “In love?”

“Don’t give me that look, I saw how into that book you got just now.” She gives his arm a light smack with her own book, finger keeping her place. “It’s a serious question.”

“Course, a course…” His smirk softens as he thinks, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t rightly know. I guess not. You’d know if you was in love, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, not always. Lotta people are just oblivious about it.” According to the books, anyways. She doesn’t recall any personal experience about it.

“Hm.” Oblivious, huh? “Well… maybe I was. I don’t know. She was pretty, and I thought about her a lot. But she—“ he stops himself, mouth shutting with a click.

“Oh, Beck, you don’t gotta…” She reaches over, gently touching his arm, a small frown worrying her face.

“She just didn’t like my lifestyle, s’all. Was enough to leave me.” His thumb worries the binding of the book in his hand, brow furrowed. “But I don’t think that was love, cause I’m not still missin’ her any.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You seem like an awfully decent man.”

That pulls a chuckle from him, turning his head to regard her with a raised eyebrow. Decent is certainly not the first word that would come to mind to describe himself. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t think so.” There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, and a smaller hint of something else. What would be the word? Wistfulness, maybe? Her eyes are drawn to Kieran.

“Hmm.” He follows her gaze, letting the silence sit a beat or two. “You an’ Kieran seem pretty close.”

“Me and Kieran?” She turns back to him, expression curious. Maybe cautious. If he had to guess, he’d say it had to do with the O’Driscoll thing.

“Yeah. From where I see it, anyway.”

“Well…” After a moment, her gaze goes back to the man in question, lingering for a moment before she looks to the ground. “He is sweet. And… cute, in his way. But…”

He doesn’t press, simply waits for her to find the words, finger idly rubbing the pages he’s open to.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighs, shoulders sagging just a bit. “If I was to be with someone in this kinda life, he’s a good choice. Round my age, sweet an’ all…” She pauses again, biting at her lip for a moment as she folds the corner of a page over and over. “But when I really think about it, I get all… freaked out. Havin’ a baby in camp, after seein’ all that Abigail went through, or even runnin’ off together, buyin’ some land—” The corner tears. Gilbert gently takes the book from her hand, setting it aside downward as to not lose the page. “No matter how I play it out in my head it feels so final, and… I… I don’t know. Am I just thinkin’ too much?”

“Well, I’d definitely say yer thinkin’ too much.” The woman frowns at that, fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt. “Why is this so heavy on you?”

“I don’t know, Beck…” She gives another glance to Kieran, who’s leaned against the side of a building to smoke. “I’m pretty sure he’s sweet on me.”

“But you’re not actually sweet on him.”

“I—” She seems shocked by the claim, evident on her face — and he watches her expression shift, shock to revelation. “I… I guess I ain’t.”

“You don’t gotta marry any man who’s decent and sweet on ya, miss Gaskill.”

“I know that, I just… I do care about him, ya know. It seemed like it could’ve been a sweet story.” She’s smoothed her skirt out, watching Kieran again. 

“Life ain’t a storybook, I’m afraid.”

She chuckles, looking back at Gilbert. “No, it really ain’t.”

He hums, his own gaze turning to Kieran for a few moments before he stands, holding his book out. “Well, thank you for invitin’ me to read, miss Gaskill.”

“Oh, you hold onto that. You can give it back when you’re done.” She reaches out to touch his wrist before he moves to step away. “Thank you for the talk, Beck.”

“Don’t think nothin’ of it.” They share a smile before he walks off and she returns to her own book.

They make somewhat of a routine, after that. He gets through the books he borrows faster and faster as he gets back into the swing of reading so much again, in his free time in between work or small fishing trips with Kieran to give them both relatively fresh air compared to being cooped up in camp, and they talk about the books. Favorite parts from the most recent on they finished, how they interpreted certain parts — a few pointed out to Gilbert by Mary-Beth, as they seemingly flew right over his head. 

It feels good. He cooks with Pearson, cleans with Tilly, fishes with Kieran, and reads with Mary-Beth. He and Charles have a semblance of mutual respect, he thinks, always exchanging good mornings and good nights and nods of acknowledgment. Uncle is easy to talk and drink with, even if he says rude things now and again. Abigail, though, seems lost in her own world, with a cloud of dread around her that only dissipates with her son, Jack, and leaves her mood sour and temper short, so he gives her space. As for Grimshaw, she’s easy enough to appease by keeping up on any chores that need doing — which out here, is mostly laundry — and he doubts she really has a ‘nice’ kinda mood. And Sadie…

Well, she hasn’t killed him, beat his ass, or asked him to leave. He figures that’s a good a sign as any. 

Overall, he’s gotten comfortable. He’s gotten into the relatively good graces of the camp as a whole, and it all feels far less stifling. Even the small building they sleep in. 

It’s a wonder it even lasted as long as it did.


End file.
